It Could Only Happen at Hogwarts
by Inusitatus
Summary: Being doused in a sabotaged potion had some REALLY unexpected effects for Harry Potter. Voldemort really wasn't expecting this!


I've always been a fan of farce - probably stemming from too many episodes of 'Allo Allo' as a child!

Needless to say, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other characters referenced herein . . .

 **oOoOo**

Harry Potter woke slowly, the antiseptic smell in his nostrils telling him that he was, once again, in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Slowly testing his limbs he was relieved to find that everything seemed to be in place and working normally.

He opened his eyes, and was relieved that he could still see, albeit as blurrily as usual without his glasses, which he found sitting on the cabinet at the side of his bed. That hadn't been a foregone conclusion, as the last thing he could remember was being covered in a partially-completed mood-enhancement potion when his cauldron had unexpectedly exploded.

Putting on his glasses and sitting up in bed had drawn the attention of a number of people, who now approached his bed. The Headmaster and Professors Slughorn, Snape and McGonagall were beaten to the bed by Madam Pomfrey.

"How are you feeling Mr Potter?" she asked. "Any nausea or light-headedness? Is your vision clear?"

"No, no and yes," he replied. "I feel fine, Madam Pomfrey. What happened?"

"Sabotage, Mr Potter," said Professor Slughorn unhappily. "I saw Mr Malfoy levitate something into your cauldron, but before I could do anything it exploded."

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy's always trying to sabotage my potions," he said. "He's not normally very subtle so I stop most of his attempts. I was really concentrating on slicing the peyote shoots, though, and must have missed this one."

"Yes, your potion was looking good, Mr Potter," complimented Slughorn, "I've given you full marks for the day as you were well on track to completing it successfully. You seem to have inherited your mother's talent in potions, and she was a match for Severus, here."

Harry fought down a grin as Professor Snape scowled, obviously unhappy at any praise aimed his way.

"Thank you Professor," said Harry. "Are there any potential problems with me being coated in the potion?"

"That, Mr Potter, is a very good question," replied Slughorn. "Ordinarily the answer would be no, in that although you might have mood swings for a few hours there would be no lasting impact."

"Ordinarily?" repeated Harry nervously.

The four professors exchanged glances.

Harry sighed. "Am I going to die?" he asked resignedly.

"Mr Potter!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. "Of course you're not going to die."

Harry thought he heard a muttered ""Unfortunately" from Professor Snape's direction.

"So what is going to happen to me?" pressed Harry. "It's obviously something unpleasant from the way you don't want to tell me anything."

"It's not necessarily unpleasant, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "But if what we suspect is correct, it may be that you are in for some . . . interesting experiences, shall we say."

"The thing is," interjected Professor Slughorn, sensing Harry's rising exasperation, "Professor Snape and I examined the residue of the potion that exploded on you, and we were extremely surprised to find that Mr Malfoy's sabotage seemed to have produced a potion that, as far as we are aware, has only ever been brewed successfully once before."

"And?" prompted Harry exasperatedly.

"The potion, Harry, is called "Le Farceur" by the French _Academie des Sorcieres_ , who were the ones to successfully brew it in the 1960s," explained Professor Dumbledore. "They were attempting to produce a long-lasting version of _felix felicis_ without the side-effects that the liquid luck potion has. They intended it to be used by their aurors, to give them an edge against magical criminals."

"That actually sounds like a good idea," said Harry. "But I'm assuming that it didn't work as planned?"

"By Jove, no!" exclaimed Professor Slughorn. "They tested the potion on a volunteer from their auror corps, a Monsieur Clouseau, and, well," he trailed off.

"The man became a walking disaster area," said Professor Snape gleefully. "In the following twelve months he was the subject of seventeen murder attempts, was the cause of a small war between France and Italy and had over a dozen houses explode whilst he was inside them."

Snape smiled. "The coming year should be very interesting, Potter."

At Harry's horrified expression, Professor Dumbledore hastened to reassure him. "Please do not be alarmed, Harry. Whilst it is true that M Clouseau was indeed involved in a number of extraordinary incidents, he did in fact survive them all, apprehended many criminals and became the most highly decorated auror in French history."

"Indeed," agreed Professor Slughorn. "And the last I heard, he had retired to an island in French Polynesia with a number of extremely attractive women who he'd encountered whilst under the influence of the potion."

"So for the next year, I'm going to have horrible luck and probably have lots of people trying to kill me or blow me up?" clarified Harry.

"It is perhaps more accurate to say that the improbable will become certain around you, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "Those occurrences that would ordinarily be a chance in a million will come to pass more often than not."

"Like being attacked by possessed professors, basilisks and dementors and being kidnapped to take part in necromantic resurrection rituals, you mean?"

Dumbledore coughed. "Yes, exactly those kind of events," he admitted.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "So business as usual," he grumbled, and turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Am I fit to go back to lessons?"

"You are, Mr Potter," said the matron. "You can head down to the great hall, lunch should still be on the tables. But please let me know if you experience any unusual symptoms over the next few days."

"I'm sure you'll be seeing Potter regularly over the coming weeks," Snape told her, smiling maliciously at Harry.

Harry jumped off the bed, glared at Snape and stalked out of the hospital wing, slamming the door behind him.

A shelf by the door vibrated, dislodging a small cauldron which fell onto the foot of a suit of armour stood guard by the door. The armour shook its foot and aimed a kick at the cauldron, which flew towards the professors at speed, impacting Snape's groin with a meaty thud. Snape fell to his knees with a wheezing groan, clutching himself.

Professor Slughorn spoke into the silence. "Might be a good idea not to antagonise Mr Potter, Severus," he told his younger colleague. "I seem to recall that several of M Clouseau's superiors and colleagues were hospitalised and institutionalised on a regular basis, usually after a disagreement with M Clouseau."

"Indeed," mused Professor Dumbledore, as Madam Pomfrey helped Snape to his feet. "Something worth sharing with your House, Severus," he told the silently-crying potions master before sweeping out of the hospital wing, followed by a chuckling Professor Slughorn.

 **oOoOo**

Harry plopped onto an open seat at the Gryffindor table between Ron and Luna, who had taken to eating with the Gryffindors on a semi-regular basis. Hermione, sat opposite, immediately began to question Harry on his health.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry interrupted her. "Really. I feel fine."

"So that potion you got covered with had no effect?" asked Neville. "It was weird watching it – it looked like you just absorbed it straight through your skin!"

"That is weird," admitted Harry, slightly disconcerted. "But it's just some kind of anti-luck potion that will cause unbelievable stuff to happen to me; but that already happens, so I don't think much will change."

"Anti-luck?" said Hermione. "It was a mood-altering potion, wasn't it?"

"Not after Malfoy sabotaged it," Harry told her. "It turned into a potion with a French name, 'Le Farcer', or something."

Hermione went white and Ron gasped audibly.

"Le Farceur?" asked Ron. "The one that the French auror Clouseau volunteered to test?"

Everyone turned to stare at Ron.

"You've heard of it?" asked Hermione incredulously. "A potion brewed in France in the 1960s? How do you know about it?"

Ron shrugged. "The twins were fascinated by it. Reckoned it was a way to brew chaos. They had a couple of books about Clouseau, and spent ages talking about it one summer, before they decided it was impossible to actually brew."

Hermione's eyes had narrowed. "Did you read those books, Ron? Were they the illustrated ones?"

Ron went red. "I just flicked through them," he muttered.

Neville and Harry exchanged puzzled looks. "What are we missing here?" asked Neville.

Surprisingly it was Luna who answered. "'Le Farceur' isn't an anti-luck potion," she told Harry. "It's a potion that causes all kinds of farcical situations to develop around the person who takes it. Strange accidents, explosions, convoluted plots around world domination, that kind of thing. But also, and this is probably why Ronald is blushing, M Clouseau and lots of people around him seemed to end up losing most of their clothes on a regular basis, in a variety of embarrassing situations. One of the books has photos. Lots of photos. And M Clouseau seems to have had lots of very attractive female friends."

Both Harry's and Neville's jaws had dropped at Luna's explanation, and it seemed that everyone on the Gryffindor table was now eavesdropping on the conversation.

"You mean," Harry began in a rather high-pitched voice, before coughing and continuing "you mean I'm going to start losing my clothes as well as getting involved in life-threatening situations?"

"Probably, and not just you," said Luna cheerfully. "All of your friends will probably be affected, too."

"I need to leave Hogwarts," blurted Harry, scrambling to his feet. "That's, that's, I mean, that's not fair on any of you. If I leave, you won't be affected."

"Nonsense, Harry," said Luna, pulling him back down. "If it was one of us who'd taken the potion and wanted to leave, would you let us?"

"Well, no," admitted Harry. "It wouldn't be safe for you outside Hogwarts, with Voldemort out there."

"So even though you might be negatively affected by the potion, you'd want us to stay?"

"Yes," sighed Harry.

"Exactly," said Luna triumphantly. "Friends stand by their friends, even when there's trouble around."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it, causing weird things to happen to you," muttered Harry.

"Of course not," agreed Luna. "But I can assure you, when I find myself mysteriously transported to your bed in the Gryffindor dorms wearing nothing but my underwear, I won't hold you responsible." A pensive look crossed her face. "I must owl-order some new underwear. If I'm going to be exposed on a regular basis I should at least try and provide some variety."

"Luna!" exclaimed Hermione. "That's not necessarily going to happen."

Luna stared at her calmly. Hermione sighed.

"Alright, it probably is going to happen," she admitted.

Harry managed to turn his mind away from the thought of Luna in her underwear. "Isn't there any way we can stop it happening?" he asked.

"Sorry, Harry," replied Luna. "I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with me appearing in your bed in my underwear."

"That's curiously specific," said Neville. "How do you know that the potion will cause you to appear in Harry's bed in your underwear?"

"Lucky guess?" suggested Luna innocently.

Hermione banged the table, startling several people. "Luna," she said severely. "You are not going to use the potion as an excuse to appear in Harry's bed in your underwear."

Harry, picking up on the twin ideas that (1) Luna might like him, and (2) Luna was an attractive witch who seemed keen to show off her underwear to him, unthinkingly said "I don't mind."

Faced by an unflinching glare from Hermione, he rapidly backtracked. "That is, you're right Hermione, Luna shouldn't try to sneak into my bed in her underwear."

He risked a glance at Luna, who winked at him, causing him to blush massively.

"Anyway," said Luna breezily, "it won't just be me. There'll probably be lots of clothing mishaps over the coming weeks. Would you like to borrow my lingerie catalogue, Hermione?"

Hermione's answer, which most of the table seemed to be interested in, was curtailed by a familiar drawl.

"Lingerie, Lovegood? It doesn't matter how you dress up, you're a still a loony!"

Crabbe and Goyle, flanking Malfoy, sniggered.

"That doesn't actually make sense," pointed out Harry with a frown. "And it's not funny either."

He turned to Crabbe, and asked "Why did you laugh at Malfoy's comment? What did you find humorous about it?"

Crabbe stared at Harry like a deer caught in headlights, mouth agape. He clearly hadn't been expecting questions.

When no answer was forthcoming Harry turned to Goyle instead. "What about you? What was it about that comment that you found funny?"

He was met with a similar response.

Harry shook his head. "You need better material, Malfoy," he told the blond. "Why are you over here anyway? Did you want to borrow Luna's lingerie catalogue?"

Malfoy spluttered a denial, but Harry was on a roll. "What do you think, Luna?" he asked the Ravenclaw. "I can sort of see Malfoy in a black corset with stockings and suspenders."

"No, Harry," corrected Luna. "Not with his complexion. Pastel shades, I think. Oh, and a ball gag of course!"

Harry wasn't sure what a ball gag was, but opted to just nod thoughtfully.

Luna rummaged in her bag and pulled out a magazine. "Or what about this," she said, flourishing it at Malfoy. "More for the rough end of the market, perhaps, but I think this would suit you."

"Leather Boys?" said Neville, reading the magazine's title, his jaw dropping at the cover picture of a blond, with a disturbing resemblance to Lucius Malfoy, wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps."

"Do you like leather, Draco?" asked Luna innocently. "There are some mail order advertisements in here. You can borrow it if you like?"

"I'm not a leather fetishist!" proclaimed Malfoy loudly, "And I don't wear women's underwear!"

"That's good to hear, Mr Malfoy," commented Professor Dumbledore into the silence that followed Malfoy's pronouncement as he walked into the Great Hall, accompanied by a limping Professor Snape. "I'm sure we are all relieved at your underwear choices, although I must confess to being partial to a certain amount of leather myself. Why, I happened to be passing through the Soho district of London during the summer and came across a most fascinating shop that sold . . ."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," called Professor McGonagall from the head table. "Perhaps that's an anecdote better saved for another day?"

"Perhaps," twinkled the headmaster, patting Malfoy on the shoulder. "Be your own man, Mr Malfoy. Experimentation is good for the soul!"

Conversation in the Great Hall picked up again as Professor Snape escorted Malfoy and his cronies back to the Slytherin table, put up a silencing word and seemed to be lecturing his house.

"Luna, why do you have a magazine of nearly naked men wearing leather?" asked Ginny, who had snatched the magazine from her hand and was slowly flicking through it. "And more importantly, where can I get one?"

"Ginny!" hissed Hermione. "That magazine is not suitable for a fifteen year old girl!"

Ginny flipped the magazine to its centrefold and displayed it for the rest of the fifth and sixth year Gryffindors to see.

"Yes, that surprised me as well," said Luna into the silence. "Until I saw that I hadn't realised that penises could be so large."

"I don't think that's typical," said Hermione weakly. "It can't be, I mean," she trailed off.

"Some kind of localised enlargement potion?" suggested Neville. "Because I don't think it's typical either."

"Speak for yourself, Nev," said Dean. He flashed a grin at Lavender and Parvati. "Ladies, they call me 'The Python'".

Lavender snorted. "Really?" she asked disbelievingly.

Seamus coughed. "Having shared a dorm with Dean for the last five years," he said, "and knowing him quite well, I've never actually heard anyone refer to him as 'The Python', or seen any reason for anyone to refer to him in that way."

Dean gave Seamus a wounded look.

Hermione grabbed the magazine. "This is contraband," she told Luna. "I'm going to have to confiscate it."

"Of course, Hermione," said Luna, and gave Hermione a broad wink. "Just let me have it back when you've done with it."

Hermione went bright red. "No, Luna, I mean that it's really confiscated. Under the rules I'll have to turn it in to Professor McGonagall."

"Turn what in, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, who had obviously spotted that something was going on at the Gryffindor table and come to investigate."

"A magazine, Professor," stammered Hermione. "I, er, found it under the table."

McGonagall took the magazine and flipped through it rapidly.

"Found it under a table?" said McGonagall, Hermione's still bright red face and stammered excuse apparently causing her to doubt that explanation. "I expect a certain amount of such items to circulate around the school, Miss Granger, but in future please try not to read them in the Great Hall." She shook her head. "It's always the studious ones," the table heard her mutter as she walked away.

Neville burst into laughter as soon as McGonagall was out of earshot. "Always the studious ones!" he repeated. "Is there something you're not telling us, Hermione?"

Hermione simply put her head on her arms and refused to look at anyone. "You know it's Luna's magazine," came her muffled reply.

Harry shook his head and smiled as conversations started up around him. If this was the kind of farcical situation that the potion caused, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

 **oOoOo**

 _Slytherin Common Room, later that day_

The sixth year Slytherins were sat in 'their' alcove in the common room; the different years tended to stake out their own parts of the room for exclusive occupation. Some were studying, others reading, when Draco Malfoy approached, brandishing a parcel.

"I've had a reply from my father," he told his peers. "I informed him of Potter's alleged predicament and asked for a means of finally dealing with him."

"You did listen to Professor Snape's instructions earlier, didn't you?" asked Blaise Zabini, raising an eyebrow. "Potter's under the influence of Le Farceur. He's off limits, even if we wanted to 'deal with him' as you put it. Which, I'd point out, most of us don't. As we've been telling you for the last five years."

Malfoy snorted derisively. "Le Farceur?" he sneered. "Don't tell me you believed that rubbish. It's just a desperate attempt by Dumbledore to keep his precious golden boy safe!"

"Because he needs that," commented Daphne Greengrass sarcastically. "He's just a poor, helpless butterfly who can't protect himself and relies constantly on others to keep him safe."

"Exactly, Daphne," smirked Malfoy, oblivious to the sarcasm. "But no longer. Behold!"

He ripped the wrapping from the parcel he was carrying and flourished its contents.

"It's a giant wooden dildo," said Theo Nott dryly. "I know you've been obsessed with Potter since first year, but this is starting to get embarrassing. Are you going to ask him to use it on you, or his he going to be the buggeree in whatever twisted fantasy you've come up with?"

Malfoy flushed angrily. "It's not a dildo," he hissed. "It's the Phallus of Tyre!"

"What?" asked Tracy Davies. "I've never heard of it."

"I have," said Pansy Parkinson, eyeing the phallus warily. "It's a dark artifact, supposedly created during the siege of the city during the first crusade to help destroy the crusaders. It was in the wizarding museum there, but vanished earlier this century."

"What does it do?" asked Theo interestedly.

"It was supposed to cause the death of anyone who handled it, but the stories I've read don't say how, only that several hundred crusaders met a grisly end after it was given to them."

"Draco's handling it now," Blaise pointed out. "Which is disturbing in itself."

Malfoy quickly dropped the Phallus, and ripped open and read the accompanying letter before letting out a sigh of relief.

"It has a trigger," he told the other Slytherins. "My father has armed it and I just need to get Potter to set it off."

"How does he do that?" asked Pansy.

"He just has to stroke it," Malfoy told her.

The Slytherins looked at Malfoy in disbelief.

"So just to clarify," said Blaise, "you're going to go up to Potter and ask him if he'll stroke your giant penis?"

"Of course not," snapped Malfoy, flushing again. "We'll slip the phallus into his bag and he'll stroke it out of curiosity when he finds it."

"Because, of course, the first thing that anyone would do on finding a mysterious giant penis in their bag is to stroke it curiously," said Daphne, shaking her head. "And what, exactly, happens to him once he's stroked your mighty phallus?"

"My father doesn't say," said Malfoy, ignoring the sniggers around him, "just that it would be humiliating and potentially fatal."

"Only potentially?" queried Tracy. "If it killed hundreds of crusaders, why would it not kill Potter?"

"My father says that it's down to the way it's armed," said Malfoy, reading the letter again. "Apparently it can be armed in a number of ways, but some of the more lethal mechanisms require items that aren't available to him, so he's done the best he can."

"Well, against Potter that's generally not been good enough," said Blaise. "I doubt this will be any different."

Malfoy glared at his housemates, snatched up the phallus and stormed towards his dorm.

The remaining Slytherins exchanged glances.

"I'll do it," said Pansy. "This has gone far enough and if Potter really is under the influence of Le Farceur, warning him about this will hopefully mean that we'll get off with something merely embarrassing."

"You're throwing in with Potter?" asked Millicent Bulstrode curiously.

Theo shrugged. "The Dark Lord, from what I understand, is now an unstable psychopath. He has a dozen or so committed followers and is nothing more than a terrorist. He couldn't hold the Ministry, even if he captured it. I don't particularly want to see him in power, and I doubt if anyone in Slytherin, bar Malfoy, does either."

Millicent nodded slowly, as Pansy rose. "I think I'll have an early dinner," she said. "Wish me luck!"

 **oOoOo**

 _The Great Hall_

Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table with a sigh of relief. The afternoon's classes had passed without incident, and he was starting to hope that the Le Farceur he'd been covered in had been a diluted version of the one in France that everyone seemed to know about.

He was one of the first into the Hall, but was surprised to see Pansy Parkinson enter, on her own, and walk towards him. He quickly palmed his wand and held it under the table, suspicious of her motives.

"Potter," said Pansy neutrally as she stopped in front of him.

"Parkinson," replied Harry warily.

Pansy sighed. "Look, I'll just come out and say it," she said. "Draco has been sent a dark artifact by his father. It's armed, and he intends to slip it into your bag and for you to trigger it without realising, causing you to be humiliated and possibly killed."

Harry leaned back, thinking furiously. "And you're telling me because?" he asked.

"We know you're under the influence of Le Farceur", she told him. "And aside from Draco, no-one in Slytherin particularly wants to see you dead, or to see the Dark Lord in charge of things. This is a warning so you don't get caught up in Draco's scheme, and we don't get caught up in a Le Farceur generated retaliation."

"OK," said Harry slowly. "Assuming that you're telling the truth, what is this artifact? What does it look like?" He was surprised to see the girl in front of him blush.

"It's called the Phallus of Tyre," she told Harry. "It looks like a giant wooden penis, and it will be triggered if you stroke it."

Harry stared at her incredulously as she reddened further.

"Look, I know it sounds ridiculous," she said, "but it's true. Ask Granger, she'll probably have heard of it. Just, if you find a giant wooden penis in your bag, don't stroke it."

Harry couldn't help smiling. "This must have something to do with Le Farceur," he told Pansy.

"What must have something to do with Le Farceur?" asked Hermione, as she sat down opposite Harry. "And what are you doing here, Parkinson?"

"Now, now, Hermione," said Harry, fighting down laughter. "Parkinson was just warning me of dire consequences should I accidentally stroke Malfoy's giant penis."

Hermione looked between the two of them. "I'm not sure how to respond to that," she admitted. "I assume this isn't just a jealousy thing?" she asked Pansy.

"What!" exclaimed Pansy. "No it isn't! I've never been anywhere near Draco's, er, that is," she trailed off in embarrassment.

"Parkinson," said Harry, bringing her attention back to him. "Thank you for the warning. As unbelievable as it sounds, I'll be careful."

Pansy nodded at him, somewhat mollified, and hurried off to the Slytherin table to sit by some of her newly arrived housemates.

"Do I want to know?" Hermione asked Harry.

"Have you heard of the Phallus of Tyre?" he responded.

"A dark artifact, created to aid the defence of Tyre during the first crusade," said Hermione promptly, before a horrified look crossed her face. "Are you saying that Malfoy has the Phallus?"

"So Parkinson says," Harry confirmed. "Apparently it's triggered by stroking, so she was warning me not to fondle any strange penises I might find in my bag."

Hermione let out an involuntary giggle. "I can see why you suspect Le Farceur," she admitted.

"Let's see what happens," he said. "Keep your eyes open for Malfoy's penis. And I can't believe I just said that!"

 **oOoOo**

Dinner was coming to an end, and Harry was starting to think that the whole thing was a prank thought up by the Slytherins when, turning to speak to Neville, he spotted a ripple in the air behind him. Without giving it much thought he snatched up a jug of cream, left over from the dessert course, and flung its contents at the ripple.

A shape was momentarily outlined in white before a disillusionment charm fell and the form of Draco Malfoy was revealed, reaching towards Harry's bag.

What are you doing skulking around under an invisibility charm, Malfoy?" demanded Harry.

"None of your business, scarhead," retorted Malfoy, although he sounded rather nervous.

"What's that in your hand, Malfoy," asked Neville, who'd turned as Malfoy had been revealed.

"Nothing to do with you, squib," snapped Malfoy, looking down. Harry could see that he was clutching what he could only assume was the dark artifact that Parkinson had warned him about.

"Damn you, Potter," Malfoy suddenly yelled, as he noticed the state of the artifact. "You've got cream all over my phallus!"

At that exclamation, all conversation in the Great Hall ceased as all eyes turned towards Malfoy.

Oblivious to this, Malfoy was frantically rubbing the phallus, attempting to clean all of the cream off it.

"Mr Malfoy!" came an angry call from Professor McGonagall at the head table. "Why are you stroking a giant wooden penis in the middle of the Great Hall?"

Malfoy looked up at her question, and a look or horror flashed across his face. "No, no," he protested, "I wasn't stroking it, I was just trying to clean it."

Harry could see the other sixth year Slytherins palming their faces in disbelief.

"It looked to me as though you were stroking it, Malfoy," he said evenly. "That's the trigger action, isn't it?"

"No, no" said Malfoy again, rather desperately. "I wasn't stroking it!"

Those surrounding Malfoy could suddenly hear a creaking noise, as if wood was being stressed. And it was coming from the Phallus. Malfoy dropped it and turned as if to run, but with a hissing sound the Phallus ejaculated a purple cloud which was immediately attracted to Malfoy and seemed to be absorbed by him.

Malfoy tensed, looking around frantically as the Gryffindors leaned away from him, but there were no immediate effects from the purple cloud.

Breaths were let out all over the Great Hall as Malfoy seemed to be unharmed.

"Mr Malfoy," began Professor McGonagall, as a house elf popped into the Hall and looked at the cream splattered all over the flagstones around Malfoy.

"What is you doing, throwing cream around?" said the little creature in exasperation. "You is creating big mess for Dinky to clean." It took a step towards Malfoy, then stopped, sniffing the air in confusion.

"What is this being?" said the puzzled elf. "This is . . ."

"Dinky!" commanded Professor Dumbledore. "Please return to the kitchens. You can clean up the mess later."

The house elf ignored the headmaster and continued to sniff the air.

"Dinky is feeling tingly," said the elf, beginning to rock on its feet. "Dinky's dinky is becoming stiff!"

Harry exchanged incredulous looks with Hermione and Neville.

"Dinky is wanting to thrust his dinky," called the elf, taking a step towards Malfoy.

"Stay away from me, you filthy beast," demanded Malfoy, although there was a tremble in his voice. Several more house elves popped into the hall.

"Dinky is thinking that young master is wanting it!" proclaimed the elf. "Dinky thinks that he is gagging for it!"

"Poggy is agreeing with Dinky," said one of the newly arrived elves. "Poggy's dinky is feeling like exploding over young master."

Another elf suddenly leaped at Malfoy, fastened its arms around his right leg and began to pump energetically. "Tacky is thrusting!" it proclaimed ecstatically. "Tacky is giving it to young master!"

Dinky and Poggy bounded towards Malfoy and, hitting him behind the knees, brought him to the ground. One of them attached itself to Malfoy's left leg, and the other went for an arm. More pops sounded and more elves appeared.

The first elf to tackle Malfoy, Tacky, emitted a long, keening moan as even more elves popped into the hall. "Tacky is giving it to him!" it yelled.

Malfoy was now covered in elves. There was a ripping sound and Malfoy's robe was tossed away from the thrusting pile, swiftly followed by other items of clothing.

"Oh Merlin, No!" protested Malfoy from somewhere in the scrum. His cry of "Not the mouth, not the mouth" trailed off into a wet, bubbling scream.

"Everyone return to their common rooms immediately!" bellowed Professor Dumbledore as he and Professor Snape raced towards the elf pile, as even more elves popped in. The other professors quickly marshalled the students out of the hall; the last Harry saw as he was hustled out was the professors flinging elf after elf off the pile in an attempt to reach Malfoy.

 **oOoOo**

Harry took a deep breath with his back to a wall as the students began to disperse, Malfoy's predicament being the only topic of conversation. He looked up as Pansy Parkinson approached, and gave her a quick smile.

"Thanks for the warning," he said. "I'm not sure that I'd have actually stroked that phallus if I'd found it without knowing what it was, but someone else might have."

Pansy grinned back. "No problem, Potter," she replied.

Hermione, stood nearby, asked: "Parkinson, did you know that the Phallus would do that?"

"Definitely not!" exclaimed Pansy. "The only thing I can remember reading about it was that it caused the grisly death of several hundred crusaders. I'd definitely have remembered if there'd been any mention of sexual molestation by dozens of house elves!"

"Who on earth would create an artifact that caused house elves to go into some sort of mad rut?" asked Blaise Zabini, who had accompanied Pansy.

"Someone with an unhealthy interest in house elves?" replied Harry with another grin. "Makes you wonder what Lucius Malfoy was doing with it, doesn't it?"

The doors to the Great Hall suddenly slammed open, and Professor Snape ran out carrying an apparently unconscious Draco Malfoy, who was wrapped in a tablecloth but whose hair and face looked to be coated in some kind of slimy substance. He headed for the stairs leading to the hospital wing. Several house elves ran out of the hall behind him, clearly in hot pursuit.

"You is to be coming back here!" yelled one of them. "Chibby is not being finished slaking his lusts on young master!"

"Nor is Fobby!" called another. "Fobby is thinking that young master is wanting Fobby to take him up the . . ."

"Back to the kitchens!" yelled Dumbledore, appearing in the doorway and cutting off the elf's claim. "All house elves are restricted to the kitchens until further notice!"

He received a number of sullen looks from the remaining elves, who popped out _en masse_ as Snape and Malfoy disappeared up the stairs.

"Mr Potter," said Professor McGonagall, who had followed the headmaster out of the hall. "You seemed to be expecting Mr Malfoy to do something. Did you have prior warning of this incident?"

"No, Professor," said Harry sincerely, not looking at the Slytherins. "I did receive an anonymous warning that Malfoy was going to try to slip a dark artifact into my bag, so I was watching for him, but I wasn't expecting that."

"None of us were expecting that, Mr Potter," said the headmaster wearily. "I suspect that Le Farceur is partially responsible for this."

Harry bristled. "So you're saying it's my fault that Malfoy tried to give me a dark artifact?"

"Not at all, Harry," placated the headmaster. "Mr Malfoy's choices are his own. But the outcome may not have been the same had you not been under the influence of Le Farceur."

"Headmaster," said Blaise diffidently. "Draco did mention earlier that he had received a parcel from his father. Perhaps Mr Malfoy might be able to cast some light on the matter?"

"That's a conversation I'd like to hear," whispered Harry to Hermione. "Mr Malfoy, I'm sorry to have to tell you that your son has been the victim of an unfortunate house elf gangbang. I believe that you may have sent him the dark artifact that caused it. Have you been experimenting with house elf sexuality by any chance?"

Pansy unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle.

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Miss Parkinson," reproved Professor McGonagall. "One of your friends has been severely traumatised."

"Harry is thinking that the young master was wanting it up him," said Harry, attempting a house elf impersonation. This was too much for Pansy and Blaise, who both burst into almost hysterical laughter.

"Enough!" said the headmaster. "Please return to your common rooms." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, could you contact Mr Malfoy's parents, whilst I see if I can assist in his treatment."

Harry nodded to the two Slytherins, who were still chuckling at his earlier comment, and he and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor, where they were interrogated by the rest of the house about their knowledge of the phallus and its effects. Although several other Gryffindors had heard of it, none could add anything to Hermione and Pansy's knowledge.

Eventually, Harry yawned and decided to call it a night. Leaving the rest of his dorm-mates still discussing the incident he headed to his dorm-room and was preparing for bed when he was startled by a pop and, turning, saw that Dobby was lounging on his bed.

"Hi Dobby," he said, slightly warily. "I thought that the headmaster had confined all the elves to the kitchens?"

"Dobby is a free elf, Harry Potter, Sir," replied Dobby. "Dobby is not bound to the school, so does not have to follow the orders of the headmaster."

"So what can I do for you, Dobby?" Harry asked.

"Harry Potter is greatest wizard ever," Dobby told him. "Other elves is asking Dobby to come and thank the great Harry Potter, Sir."

"Thank me for what?" asked Harry, puzzled. "Do you mean the thing with Malfoy earlier?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter, Sir," replied Dobby enthusiastically. "Elves is being sad for long time. No little elves is being born. Old elves is dying. We is thinking that soon, no elves be left. Elves is not being able to make more elves. But then, the great Harry Potter, Sir, sees that there is being a problem and tricks old bad master into making things better. Now elves is knowing how to make little elves again. We is working on it already!"

Harry felt a headache coming on. "Hang on, Dobby. Are you saying that for some reason elves haven't able to have babies?"

"Not for years and years and years," confirmed Dobby. "Elves is forgetting how."

Harry shook his head, not wanting to go there. "But," he clarified, "that purple cloud that came out of the Phallus of Tyre made you remember?"

"Elves is suddenly feeling urges," agreed Dobby. "Is taking out urges on bad young master. And then, is remembering where little elves is coming from."

"Right," said Harry. "So the thing with Malfoy has stopped, then? You won't be doing that to him again?"

"No, elves is remembering now," said Dobby. "Elves is doing it with other elves. Again and again and again and . . ."

"Yes, yes, I get the picture," interrupted Harry quickly. "Well, although I didn't really have much to do with it, I'm pleased for you and the other elves."

"Harry Potter, Sir, is great wizard," repeated Dobby. "So Dobby is giving great Harry Potter, Sir, a present."

"Oh, that's alright Dobby," said Harry quickly, not sure what the hyperactive elf might consider to be an appropriate gift.

"No, Harry Potter, Sir," said Dobby, with a mischievous grin. "Harry Potter, Sir will be getting his present!".

Dobby snapped his fingers and there was a sudden squeal as a blond-haired figure appeared three feet above Harry's bed and dropped face down onto it. Another snap of the fingers, and Dobby popped away.

Harry looked at his bed as a puzzled Luna Lovegood turned over to look at him, showing that all she was wearing was a skimpy blue bra and panty set.

"Hah!" cried Luna, pumping a fist as she spotted Harry and realised where she was. "Take that, Hermione Granger! I knew that I'd wind up here in my underwear!" She shifted position and gave Harry a sultry look. "Do you like my lingerie, Harry?"

Harry smiled and, raising his eyes to ceiling, said: "I never thought I'd say this, but Thank You, Draco Malfoy!"

 **oOoOo**


End file.
